


Burn

by AkitaFallow



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, httyd2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkitaFallow/pseuds/AkitaFallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiccup knew it was his duty; knew that, as much as everything in his heart rebelled and his hands shook, he had to do this. But despite that, he never, ever expected to raise his bow, pull back the string, loose the arrow, and <em>miss</em>.</p><p> <em>(HUGE HTTYD2 spoilers. Read at your own risk.)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NefarioussNess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NefarioussNess/gifts).



> I just had a lot of feelings to vent, okay?

 

 

Hiccup could feel fine tremors running down his arms as he stood on the shore, watching the boat that held his father’s body glide out into the icy sea. The bow in his hands felt like it weighed as much as the world itself, and he was torn between throwing it to the ground or breaking it in half.

He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t light this arrow, shoot it onto the boat, and watch the last traces of his father burn. It was too final, too permanent, and it just wasn’t _possible_ that he should have to do this—he’d thought he would have _years_.

He couldn’t do this.

But he had to.

It was the only thing he could do anymore. And his dad… Stoick the Vast, Chieftain of Berk, deserved this from his son.

Not for the first time, Hiccup wished that he had Toothless’ warm, steady presence by his side right now. And, not for the first time, he felt a yawning chasm of pain and betrayal and apology open within him at the thought of his dragon, and he shoved it away before he could fall into it.

The arrowhead caught fire easily, and Hiccup took a deep breath as he raised the bow. His eyes tracked the boat’s slow progress across the water, and he felt his teeth grit in unsteady determination as he loosed the string.

The arrow flew through the air, a tail of sparks flying behind it as it descended, and—

It fizzled out in the water next to the boat.

Hiccup stared in disbelief, his bow still half raised, his eyes wide and unblinking as his mind refused to accept what he was seeing. He had _missed._ He had never been the best shot in all of Berk, he knew that, but he was a _Viking_ , he knew how to shoot, he’d known since he was _six years old_ —

“Hiccup.”

He jerked, his eyes refocussing as he wrenched his head around, his mother’s voice calling him back. “I… I missed, I…”

“It’s okay, son,” Valka murmured, and he suddenly realized there were tears dripping from her eyes, down her face, as she raised a hand. “It’s alright. One more time.”

He nodded, a twitch of movement that made his head swim. He reached for a second arrow, the next in a small line that were stabbed into the ground next to him. His hands shook as he raised the bow, nocking the arrow to the string with fingers that trembled. He straightened after lighting it, resettling his feet and closing his eyes for a long blink. _Just like target practice,_ he told himself, just like Dad… just like he’d always been told. Breathing out, he opened his eyes and pulled back the string.

The moment his eyes settled on the boat again, his heart gave a lurch, and the string snapped past his face with a zing of pain, the arrow ricocheting off of an ice floe and hissing into the sky.

He heard a murmur from Astrid, something small and sad that might have been his name but he wasn’t listening because _he missed again._ The one thing he could do for his dad, the _last thing_ he would _ever_ do for the mighty man who had been his father, mother, mentor, friend, confidante, _everything_ , and he was failing. The last honour a Viking could be given, and Hiccup couldn’t even grant him that. He was failing _again_ and Dad was right all those years, he couldn’t do _anything_ right—

The next arrow barely made it onto the string before it was loosed, and it flew high over the boat and clattered to a smouldering halt on an ice flat. The next two flew straight into the water, and the last skittered onto the deck of the boat, coming to rest beside the bier and _he’d forgotten to light it_.

Something was making painful noises, it sounded like someone was dying, but that was impossible because the only one who mattered was already dead, and he couldn’t feel his fingers as he scrabbled for another arrow, nearly falling to his knees as he lurched toward the embers, the arrow in hand because _this time_ it’d be lit, he could _do_ this—

Arms wrapped around his chest and he fought against them, some impossible sound ripping from his throat because he was _so close_ , he could get it this time and then it would be okay, it would be _okay_ —

The embers were an orange blur in his sight, skewing across his vision, and he couldn’t move, his hands reaching forward and grasping at nothing while the grip around his chest rocked him and he fought, fought tooth and nail because _he had to do this_ but he _couldn’t_ —

The world fell sideways as the embers disappeared, blocked by something dark and quick, and he _couldn’t move_.

He felt something cold press against his face, and someone was stuttering _I’m sorry, I can’t, I can’t_ while someone else murmured _my son, Hiccup, oh my son,_ and suddenly he realized it was Valka in front of him, her hands cupping both sides of his face, her forehead pressed to his almost painfully as sobs wrenched their way around her words, and someone else’s arms were wrapped around his chest, and he could hear Astrid crying, but Astrid never cried…

But he couldn’t see, and the painful sounds and near-incoherent words were his as tears bled from his own eyes. His whole body shook as he cried, feeling as though the air around him was thick and heavy, pressing him into the ground and forcing him to gasp for breath. He couldn’t breathe, but what did it matter? His father was dead, it was all his fault, he’d never get to see him again, and he couldn’t even _hit a boat with an arrow._

He tucked his chin into his chest and collapsed into himself.

 

* * *

 

“Hiccup.”

The voice was impossibly gentle, and he could feel fingers in his hair. Someone was singing softly, a song without words, the tune unfamiliar but comforting even though it hitched every once in a while. Slowly, ever so slowly, feeling like a cavern had been dug into his body and nothing was left behind, he opened his eyes.

His mother’s face stared back at him, blurring in and out of focus. Her eyes were red and her cheeks glistened with tears. He could feel the same wetness on his own nearly-numb cheeks, though a stinging pain lanced across the right one. Valka raised a trembling hand and ran it through his hair, and both of their breathing was ragged and loud across the ice.

“My boy, my baby boy,” Valka whispered, her voice thready and small. “I’m so sorry.”

Hiccup swallowed convulsively, forcing down another bought of hysteria as the grief rose up in him again. He felt Astrid’s arms—they were familiar, he knew them—tighten around him, and the wordless song brushed against his ear again. Valka raised both her arms and wrapped them around the both of them, swallowing the outside world in a cocoon of warmth.

It was only a few moments later that Hiccup managed to gather himself enough to ask in a trembling voice, “The… Dad—” The word was painful.

His mother understood. “One more try, Hiccup.” Both sets of arms clenched around him before releasing, and he staggered to his feet unsteadily. He could see the other dragon riders standing off to the side, their heads lowered respectfully, and then his gaze swung to Valka and Astrid, both standing very close and looking as devastated as he felt. Then his eyes looked beyond and found the boat.

It had dwindled to a shape on the horizon, and he nearly couldn’t make out the shape of the bier on the deck. He felt the despair rise up to swallow him; he could never make a shot like that.

He had failed.

Hiccup’s knees gave out, but suddenly there was a hand under his arm, holding him steady, and a bow was thrust into his hands—a larger bow than he was used to, a bow meant for a larger stature, his father’s bow, because he knew the contours of it after all these years—and then Valka was there, her hands over his as she brought the bow up into position with him.

“Together,” she whispered as she rested her right cheek to his left, hands over his. Astrid was already presenting a small, smouldering arrow, her face solemn but firm. Hiccup felt his fingers wrap around the shaft, and his mother’s warm hand atop his as he placed it against the string. Her strength joined his as they raised the bow and drew the string, farther than Hiccup had ever managed when Stoick had allowed him to try. They breathed together, a great steadying breath that leaked from their lungs slowly until the world had focused down to the boat floating serenely on the horizon.

And as the exhale ended and calm replaced it, they released the arrow.

The arrow tore through the sail of the boat and thumped into the bier, and within moments both had caught. The wind of the open sea spurred the flame into action quickly, and by the time the bow dropped from Hiccup’s nerveless fingers and he stumbled back into his mother, the vessel—his father’s final resting place—was already being consumed.

Valka’s arms wrapped around him again, and together they watched a man they had loved burn.


End file.
